Fallout: Unity
by Bozhestvennym
Summary: After the bombs fell in October of 2077, some were granted safety within one of Vault-Tec's safe sites, Vault 111. However, for all but two, this would become a tomb. The believed Sole Survivor, Thomas Thompson, has exited the Vault and seeks answers and recompense. Along the way, Thomas encounters many interesting and unique characters in his pursuit of the Institute. [AU?]
1. I: Prologue

_Chapter I: Prologue_

 _23 October, 2077_

* * *

"You're gonna knock 'em dead at the Veteran's Hall tonight, hon," she spoke into my ear, as she'd crept up behind me. I was standing in front of the mirror, eyeing myself up, and somehow I hadn't even noticed her until she'd spoke.

I let a warm smile cross my lips as I asked back, "You think?"

"Absolutely," she told me, bursting with sass and positivity, "Now get ready and stop hogging the mirror."

"Right," I replied. In the mirror, I glanced at her. My beautiful wife. Often when I thought about it, I was unsure how I'd won her over all those years ago, but I wasn't complaining. She was perfect in every way.

I thought that maybe I'd shave, but it was only a little stubble on my chin, so it wasn't really necessary. I looked spiffy in my suit, which I'd ironed out to make look extra perfect. I needed it for the speech I was going to give tonight, which I'd spent countless hours practicing. This was going to be huge.

"Hon," she called out, snapping me back to focus, "I need to get ready, come on, get moving."

"Right, right, sorry," I meekly responded. I stepped back, letting my wife slide past me to the mirror in the bathroom. It was small, kind of quaint.

Out into the hallway I went, taking a look around. My home. I'd worked hard for it. Not that Nora hadn't, she was a bigshot lawyer, after all. But there was some sense of accomplishment I felt, having fought for my country and only recently fulfilling my military contract two years ago. Sometimes I'd forget that I wasn't still in the service.

"Sir, your coffee is ready!" a British voice called out to me, bringing me to focus again. I kept zoning out, for some reason.

"On my way, Codsworth," I answered back. Codsworth was our robot, a Mr. Handy. He helped out around the house a lot, as was his role. Down the hall I walked, out into our seemingly expansive living room, which was, in actuality, a living room, kitchen, and dining room lumped into one. It was efficient, although not the most pleasant sight to the eyes. Codsworth hovered next to the dining island, topped with genuine marble, as were the kitchen counters. Codsworth had left the TV on in the other corner of the room, in front of the couch, next to the stereo system, on which currently broadcasting was the local news station, the weatherman serving diligently.

Codsworth raised one of his robotic limbs, in which he held my coffee cup, out of which steamed sweet, vanilla coffee. I took the burden of carrying the mug from him, tipping my head in thanks. "And now for a brief look at the local weather. This weekend, unseasonably warm temperatures continue with a high of 56," I caught from the newscaster in the background.

"Sir," Codsworth inquired, "That Vault-Tec salesman came by again today and, I hope you don't mind, but I accepted his offer."

"Excellent," I replied, "That's absolutely fine, Codsworth, I'd been meaning to try to get in there, but he's kept showing up when I wasn't home. Thanks for taking care of that, bud."

"Of course, sir."

I cocked my head to glance out the window, which sat above our stereo. I could see people bustling about our neighborhood, and the evening sunset was beautifully shining in.

Then, in the back of my house, I heard crying. Shaun.

"Ah!" Codsworth exclaimed, lowering the newspaper down to the table, "Young Shaun must need some attending to." He zoomed out of the living area, down the hall and to the right, into Shaun's room. Shaun was our son. Only a year old, and it'd been a little tough. Nora could help keep the money flowing in, but I wasn't the best caretaker, and I hadn't been able to hold a job since I'd gotten home. Things were, admittedly, though, much easier with Codsworth around. He helped fill in for Nora while she was away, fighting legal battles with the same tenacity I'd once fought in war.

Out of the blue, I heard knocking on the front door, which I stood next to. I glanced out the window and I saw a Vault-Tec van parked out front. I opened the door, and before me stood a Vault-Tec representative, likely the same one who'd come by earlier today.

"Good evening!" the man cheerfully spoke, "My name is Ryan Smith, and I'm a representative for Vault-Tec. Are you Mister…" he trailed off, glancing down at the clipboard in his hand, then back up at me, "Mr. Thomas Thompson?"

"Yes, that's me," I confirmed, but just call me Tom."

"Oh, alright," he replied, "Well, Tom, I stopped by here earlier today and I had a chat with your Mr. Handy, I believe, about your spot in Vault 111. Is that –"

"Yes," I stopped him, "Codsworth told me. He said that he accepted the offer."

Ryan mumbled a little bit. "Yes, yes, he did. However, as you are the homeowner, I am legally required to ask you for your signature to close the deal," he spoke, flipping through a couple pages on his clipboard before gesturing it forwards to me, pen in hand. "If you'll just sign here," he pointed.

"Excellent, excellent. Now, since, uh, Codsworth, was it?" I nodded. "Yes, since, Codsworth went through all the paperwork, that'll be all. I just have to deliver this signature to the Vault and you'll be cleared for entry."

"Great," I replied.

"Uhh, yes," he shakily replied, "Thank you for your time."

"Of course," I told him, "Have a good rest of your evening."

Ryan tipped his hat and replied, "And to you," turning back to his van.

"What a weirdo," Nora said, startling me as I shut the door. "You ready to go?" she asked. Her makeup was done all fancy-like, and she'd donned a bright red, glittery dress.

I fumbled around for a minute, checking my pockets, making sure I had everything, and I was prepared to affirm when Codsworth came back through the hallway, his three eyes all locked onto Nora.

"Umm, mum, Shaun has been changed, but he absolutely refuses to calm down. I think he needs some of that "maternal affection" you seem to be so good at," Codsworth advised.

"Oh," she blushed, catching my glance, "I suppose."

"I'll come with you," I suggested, "Maybe Shaun really needs his dad."

So we both crept back to Shaun's room. He was still fussing like he had been, but his face lit up when he saw us walk in the room. It was a shame we didn't usually have time to care for him.

"How's my favorite little man doing?" she cooed as she stood above his crib. She looked happy.

"Hey, what about me?" I asked, feigning offence.

She sighed, "You aren't little, hon. But you are my favorite man."

I scoffed, "Hey, I fixed his mobile a few hours ago. Spin it for him, he loves that."

After a minute or two of her playing with Shaun, I cleared my throat, and her gaze shifted. "So," I began, "After my speech, I was thinking we could head to the park for a bit. Weather should hold up."

She smiled, "That sounds lovely, but it might be a little dark by then, hon."

"Well, maybe we could -" I began to propose.

"Sir! Mum! You should come and see this!" Codsworth called from the other room. He sounded distressed.

"Codsworth?" Nora asked, "What's wrong?"

I peeked my head out of the doorway only to hear -

"Followed by... yes, followed by flashes.

"Blinding flashes." My vision brightened, like I'd been hit with a hundred flashbangs. My ears were ringing.

"Sounds of explosions... We're... we're trying to get confirmation... But we seem to have lost contact with our affiliate stations... We do have... coming in... confirmed reports. I repeat, confirmed reports of nuclear detonations in New York and Pennsylvania. My God."

"We need to get to the Vault, now!" I screamed back, "Get Shaun, let's go, let's go!"

But suddenly, things were different. As I peered outside, I saw not my home. My neighborhood. I saw the wreckage of it. Grey. Lifeless. I looked back behind me and Shaun and Nora were gone, the room destroyed. Then...

"What?"

 _boom_


	2. II: Wake

_Act I: The Minutemen_

 _Chapter II: Wake_

 _28 October, 2287_

* * *

"Fuck!" I shouted, as I jolted back awake. It had all been a dream. I sighed, glancing off of the dirty, rotten mattress I'd been residing on. The sun pierced the walls. And the roof.

"Another nightmare, sir?" I heard from across the ruined house. Codsworth. In a way, I'd come to be bothered by my former acquaintance. Who was also a robot.

I sighed again. "Yeah."

"Same one?"

"Yeah." I laid against the dirty mattress, resentful. Angry. "It felt so fucking real," I mumbled, pinching the bridge of my nose. As if that would help. It had been four days since I'd emerged from Vault 111 to find my world shattered and ruined. Codsworth, wildly enough, was still here. After, according to him, 210 years. 210 years. How fucking insane was that?

"I know, sir. I'm sorry. I wish there was something I could do to help," Codsworth sighed.

As annoying as he could be, I still loved Codsworth. He brought me just a little bit of peace, knowing someone else from before the bombs. Even if it was a robot.

"I know you do."

 _I need to do something, though_ , I thought to myself. Over the past few days, I'd scrounged around my neighborhood of Sanctuary Hills, too afraid to venture off even to the little old Red Rocket down the street. There was both a surprising abundance and lack of resources and supplies in Sanctuary. If it came down to it, though, I'd go check the basement. Actually...

"Codsworth, did I ever tell you we had a basement?" I asked aloud, suddenly tired of moping about the house.

"Umm, no, sir, you didn't," the floating machine replied, watching me as I stood up from the mattress which had made my back sore. I still had on the Vault suit those Vault-Tec scientists had forced me into. I still couldn't believe what Vault-Tec had done. The Vaults were supposed to be a safety from the bombs, and we're boxed up in a freezer? And... Nora.

I had to stop thinking about her.

"Well, we do, and I'm gonna go check it. It's been, literally, quite a while since anyone's been down there. Would you mind giving me some light while I'm down there?"

"Of course, sir." Codsworth drifted over to where I was in the hallway and then formulated a question, "Where is the basement, Mister Thompson?"

"Why," I answered, "Below the dryer, of course." To prove my point, I crept to the laundry room and pulled the dryer out from the wall. Wouldn't be needing that anymore, anyways. "You ought to destroy that thing for parts," I advised, "The washer, too."

Sure enough, the hatch was still there. Not really sure what else I expected.

"Amazing that I never knew about this, all this time," Codsworth marveled, "What's down there?"

"A lot of my old military gear. Tactical rig I snagged from the police academy. AR-15 with a few 5.56x45mm magazines. Plenty of dried food, some stored water. Probably something else I'm forgetting," I rattled off as I lifted the hatch, letting it be propped against the washer. Codsworth's forward eye lit up white as it shone down into the cellar. There was a ladder, but it wasn't a long fall, so I dropped down, Codsworth floating down behind me as I glanced about.

"Get all three lights, I can't see a thing."

Untouched. This was probably going to be the most pre-war thing I ever saw again. My old uniform was still packaged neatly into a wooden crate marked "military," with the Kevlar vest atop the crate, and many trinkets and memorabilia tucked inside.

"This brings back memories," I said, managing a weak smile, as I lifted the vest up and took it in. I'd probably need this stuff if I was going to survive out here in what was probably a lawless land. Or so I thought.

Plenty of rations were in here, too. Three boxes of Blamco macaroni and cheese. Four entire cases of pure, sealed water bottles. Bunch of sealed cans of soup, corn, and beans. I'd be set for a while.

"Hey, I don't see my rifle. You see it anywhere?" I asked, continuing to take inventory.

"Over here next to the ladder," he called out, as I turned to glance at the location he referred to. Sure enough, my old rifle sat collecting dust and rust atop a steel table, with a few magazines scattered about, some of which weren't even NATO, as I'd forgotten about my Colt .45, which had a few magazines of its own. A couple fragmentation grenades even laid on the lower shelf, along with a flashbang. I figured I wouldn't see a whole lot of those out there.

As I looked over my rifle, still completely standard issue, I glanced to Codsworth with an inquiry, "What's it like out there?"

Codsworth took his time before responding, probably choosing his words, "Well, it's... certainly different. There's... a lot of death. Famine. Disease. War. But there are still some good people around. Or, at least, there were, before the Minutemen were wiped out. I'm afraid you just missed them, they vanished a few months ago."

"That's a damn shame," I muttered, "And these... Minutemen. What happened to them?"

"I don't know." He sounded a little uneasy discussing it, so I let him off. I put my rifle back down after wiping it off a little, at least to clear the dust, and walked over to my box of military stuff. I reached around, grabbing the release. My boots were scuffed to hell, but they were good enough. It'd be good to get out of this Vault suit. I set the crate back together and hoisted it up the ladder, then getting every other necessity out of the cellar.

"Alright, I guess we're all good here," I commented, "Let's get back out there."

* * *

It felt good to be back in my uniform. It felt right, somehow. Lugging around the vest and rifle, on the other hand, did not feel so great. I needed to establish myself somewhere. I couldn't stay in this ruined house, but... there wasn't anywhere else to go.

Ms. Rosa's house across the street had a lot of supplies, though, and a more stable roof, along with a Power Armor station, which was surprising. I couldn't remember if all this had been there before everything or not, but it was useful either way. I could see myself moving into her place, although it felt strange.

I sat outside, breathing the fresh, yet irradiated air, propped against what used to be my car. Now, it was nothing more than a pile of steel and rust. I glanced about, though, thinking of what I could do.

In truth, I was very conflicted. While it hurt to stay here, to think about my late wife, it also, simultaneously, provided comfort. But I knew that I shouldn't stay here. I had to at least go out and see what the rest of the world was like. I took another deep breath before dismounting the rust bucket. I lifted my vest up and strapped it on and grabbed my rifle.

"Sir?" Codsworth called out.

"I'm going to Concord," I affirmed, "I'm tired of doing nothing. Staying here is doing my head in."

"Shall I accompany you, sir?"

I thought about it for a moment. Codsworth was, for all I knew, the only living link to my past. I didn't want to risk losing him, especially not this soon. I couldn't handle that.

"No, bud. Stay here. Watch the house."

In the time he'd come up, as if to see me off. I put my hand on his frame, like a sign of reassurance, "I'll be back soon."

"Yes, sir. Good luck out there," he told me.

I managed a weak smile, "Thanks, Codsworth."

Walking past the houses in Sanctuary felt ethereal. Like I knew this place, because I did, but that it was so transformed and damaged that it felt foreign. I knew the families that lived here. They were my neighbors. And now they, along with everyone else, was gone.

The road felt long, and it was only to the Old North Bridge. The bridge looked like it'd been directly hit with a cannonball, and the wood was incredibly rotted. Guess I shouldn't have been surprised. Across the footbridge I crept, noticing the surprisingly sturdy remaining bit of bridge. Past the bridge were two bodies, next to the statue of the old Minutemen of the American Revolution. One was a dog. One was a man. He'd been armed, and there was a pipe sticking out of the side of the dog's bloodied corpse.

"What the hell is this?" I murmured to myself, inspecting his weapon. It wasn't anything I'd ever seen before. It was a pipe revolver. An actual, working, chambered hand cannon… made of pipes. The pipes were rusted orange from their age, but they were still identifiable. And inside it rested real, genuine .44 caliber bullets. I cocked it back, swung it towards the statue and squeezed the trigger. To my surprise, again, it actually fired. I thought it would shatter in my hands.

Not having the space, though, I set it back down in his hands, leaving the body again at peace.

 _Bark_

In the near distance, I heard something, drawing my gaze forward. I could see the old Red Rocket truck stop. Was that a dog?

 _Bark_

I heard it again. Definitely a dog, and a big one at that. I drew my Colt, prepared for the worst. This might've been the first thing I engaged out here in the new world. It also might've been the last.

In the new world, a lot of foliage had grown in the place of structure. Mother Nature certainly wasn't happy about humanity bombing her world, so she was taking it back by force. There were a lot more trees than I remembered, vines and moss everywhere. I peered through the bushes as I pushed into the foliage, and I saw it. Upon my shuffling, its gaze quickly shifted to my position. It didn't look hostile, however.

I wasn't taking any chances, though. I kept my weapon drawn as I stepped out of the foliage and into the gas station. The dog stared it me and whined. It looked like it was starving. Just seeing its face made me cave in.

"Hey boy," I called to him, "What are you doing out here all by yourself?"

He pranced up to me, his tongue out. He was hot, dehydrated, and malnourished. I could only help him so much, so I bent down and unwrapped a ration from my vest and held it out for him. He cautiously peered at it, curious, and sniffed it, right before consuming it whole. He barely even chewed it.

I reluctantly sighed as he rubbed up against my leg, "Do you want to come with me, boy?"

Somehow, I knew his silent answer.

"Alright then."

His coat was matted, but I could still tell his breed. German Shepherd. After seeing the dead mongrel back at the statue, I hadn't really expected to see something as pure a breed as this. I was suddenly reminded of that dog we'd lost back before the war. Probably still had its bowl back at home. If we made it through, I promised myself I'd sort him out.

"Well," I said as I crouched in front of him, ruffling the fur on his head, "You need a name." I inspected him for a collar, but, unsurprisingly, there wasn't one. As I stood back up, I figured I'd think of something while I looted the Red Rocket. I couldn't carry a whole lot, but the dog could probably use any food or drink I could find. Unfortunately, there wasn't much there. Sure, a complete workshop with plenty of physical materials, but very little in the way of food, and only a single bottle of Nuka Cola in a vending machine outside.

I stomached the Nuke Cola, but I wasn't sure what to do for the dog. I had a couple of water bottles on me, but I couldn't expect a dog to drink out of one. I searched around the gas station and eventually found an old water cooler and, with a little effort, managed to cut it in half with a pocket knife and pour one of the bottles into it.

"Come 'ere boy," I called out, my Southern roots taking hold, "I got something for you to drink." I immediately heard the pitter-patter of paws against concrete as the dog sprinted inside the garage of the Red Rocket. I set the bowl down in the middle of the floor, and he almost devoured the bowl itself just in lapping up all of the water.

"Jesus, it's like you've never seen water," I exclaimed, "You know there's a river directly north, right?" But, of course, being a dog, he just kept drinking until the pitcher was empty, and then glanced up at me, expecting more. I checked my vest, and I only had a couple more waters stored below my right arm. I'd give him some more later, whenever I went back home. Now, though, I proceeded to Concord, dog at my side and with a rifle slung over my shoulder.

The road down wasn't any better than that of Sanctuary Hills. It was cracked and torn all to hell, and the paint was so long gone it looked like a light, dirty grey as opposed to the crisp black asphalt of norm. Once Concord came into view, something else did as well. I saw a dead cow on the road, its guts torn out. I cautiously approached it and made a curious discovery - for whatever reason, it had two heads. Very odd.

Nevertheless, I pressed on, my mission seemingly changing randomly as I heard what I assumed to be gunfire from further into Concord. Not wanting to attract any unwanted attention, I stayed to the west side of the city until I very nearly reached the gunfire. There were a bunch of fools firing aimlessly at the Museum of Freedom, and there was a man up top in what looked like Colonial Minutemen garb, firing back at them with... a musket?

"Hey, you're not supposed to be here!" I suddenly heard shouted as one of the men caught my standing there and brought his weapon to bear. Another anomalous amalgamation of pipes and screws.

 _Pop pop!_

He fired wildly, barely able to control the recoil of his own weapon, and I ducked back behind the brick wall of whatever shop it was I was taking cover behind as the two rounds blindly missed my position and skewered off into the distance. Thinking it'd take too long to acquire my rifle, I pulled my Colt from its holster and peeked back around, taking two potshots at my foes. Due to their incompetence, I immediately heard a wet impact and a cry of pain. _Were they drugged_? I thought.

Out of nowhere, the dog sprinted around me and the corner and leapt at the man, burying his snout in his throat. Seizing the advantage, I brought my Colt back up and fired at another wastelander, my old training kicking in as the round tore through his skull and he slumped down in death. I continued my assault, firing precise round after round until suddenly, when I was in the middle of the road, my gun clicked empty. Luckily for me, there didn't appear to be any more aggressors still standing, so I ejected the magazine quickly and loaded in a new one before holstering it.

Seeing it as an opportune time, I assume, the man above called out to me, "Hey, up here, on the balcony!" as if I hadn't seen him already, "I've got a group of settlers inside, and the raiders are almost through the door. Grab that laser musket and help us, please!" 'Raiders,' eh? Well, he sounded desperate, and I felt obligated to help, but I didn't see any...

Right at the entrance to the structure lay a recently deceased man also dressed in Colonial attire, with one of those bizarre muskets at his feet, along with seven fusion cells. It was a laser musket. It was horrible to look it, like someone had dissected a classic musket and somehow made it worse. While I'd intended to approach this situation with my service rifle, I figured it couldn't hurt to save the ammo. Who knew how rare 5.56 would be out here?

Seven shots left.

I held the bizarre musket in my hands and inspected it. It appeared to be powered with a crank, somehow, alongside it's actual fusion cell. I cranked it up and put its barely available stock up to my shoulder and proceeded to kick the door open. I took a quick assessment, and, from what I could see, there were only a couple of these 'raiders', and they were both up high, but that seemed unlikely. Nevertheless, I immediately took aim and squeezed off a shot at the first one I saw, only a floor above, on a rampart overlooking the museum floor.

Six shots left.

I wasn't really expecting the kick it gave, being an energy weapon, but it gave, nonetheless. Still, the shot connected, and the man's head erupted in chemical flame as he fell over the bridge. The next target spotted me, and I squeezed the trigger again, only this time, nothing came out.

"Right," I moaned, forgetting I had to crank it like some child's toy. He seized the advantage though and fired off a couple of quick rounds in my direction, one of which caught me directly in my left shoulder, which promptly lost feeling and began to bleed profusely. Regardless, I took shelter behind a reinforced column and weakly managed to crank the confounded contraption fast enough to squeeze off a discharge a burst of energy into his chest.

Five shots left.

I wasn't looking too hot, and this early into the engagement, too. I was really out of practice. I guess it really had been 215 years since I'd held a rifle, after all. Hoping this Colonial fella could hold his own for a little longer, I pulled out some of the good old end-all-cure-all: the Stimpak. Stimpaks were ubiquitous with modern advancement, and I really didn't even know how they worked myself. Simply inject into the wound - holy shit that hurt - and everything will heal on its own very quickly. Now, some would argue that you shouldn't stick a needle or syringe of any kind into an open, bloody wound, but the folks at Lee Rapid Pharmaceuticals would beg to differ.

 _Pop pop!_

Right. Reminded I was of my old war days. Regardless, I tried to imagine where the man and his settlers must've been holed up. As I gazed up, I noticed the significant damage to the skylight, and a literal crashed military Vertibird on the west side of the roof. Fantastic. It appeared though, that they may actually be holed up top as, while I couldn't see the raiders, I could see more bullet tracers flying towards a wooden door up top. _But how to get up there_ , I wondered, while the Stimpak flowed through my system. The east wing appeared to be collapsed, and I figured the main door would more than likely be locked, so, I looked towards the west wing. It appeared clear upon minimal inspection, so I cranked the musket once again and slowly proceeded down its first hall, only to be turned around very shortly after.

This room was strange. I did not like this room. Something about it made me uneasy. The many mannequins in the room depicted some historical act involving civilians and British Redcoats, but the speakers, somehow still operational, were at least damaged, repeatedly spouting the same tarnished lines: "No more British occupation!", "Back to England with you," "Have your tea back, you jackanapes!", "No taxation without representation!"

I immediately dropped the stealth act and walked through that room only to instantly regret it. I heard an almost witch-like cackle as a woman stepped out from around the corner with a pump-action shotgun in hand. Luckily, I'd already cranked the stupid rifle, but she was quicker to the draw, firing and pumping off three consecutive twelve-gauge shells before I could exhale. I fired back with the musket, piercing through her minuscule armor and leaving a gaping hole within her torso, prompting her body to collapse in a pool of blood and excrement.

Four shots left.

I didn't come out of that engagement unscathed, however, my Kevlar appearing to be slightly damaged, having absorbed many shotgun pellets. Despite the amount of damage I'd already received from these absolute rookies, I hadn't actually missed yet, which was promising. I was really hoping there weren't that many more raiders in here, but I expected the worst. I cranked once more and proceeded once more out into the atrium, this time presenting me with far more options. Front desk, downstairs, upstairs, all of these were available. I, however, chose to carefully proceed up the stairs, fearing the fellow in need might not last much longer, especially with this mistake of a weapon. Now, I was presented with less options, in fact only one. A door to my right. I feared the worst, but I couldn't count on anything. I slowly opened the door, hoping it wouldn't...

 _CREAK_

And creak it did, quite loudly. I stood absolutely still, though, gun at the ready. Nothing. If there was anyone in there, they had to be on some serious drugs. I pushed the door open further, my barrel poking into the room before anything else. I remained low as I crept inside, peering around the corner to see this weapon's worst nightmare - more than one target. I'd have to be quick. They still hadn't seen or, miraculously, heard me, so I did still hold the element of surprise. I thought it would be wise to inspect them. One had his back to me, and was conversational, suggesting the two of them leave the 'gang.' I couldn't tell what he was holding, if anything. The other raider, another woman, was facing my general direction, and had a very short, sawed-off double barrel shotgun. Better than pipe weapons, I supposed. But which to target first...

Instead, however, the choice was made for me as, in my focus, I'd completely forgotten about the dog, which had eventually made its way to me, and was now charging around the corner at lightning speed. He leapt at the woman at the far end of the room, forcing her to the ground and ripping at her. I seized the advantage and squeezed the trigger just as my barrel found its way to the back of the man's head, and I watched as it actually disintegrated.

Three shots left.

The woman wasn't dead, though, not yet.

"Get off 'er, boy," I cautioned, which, to my surprise, actually was followed. He let go and backed off, allowing her to clutch her throat which was now pouring out through her fingers. She tried to gasp for air, to scream for help, but... I had to put her down.

Two shots left.

I glanced back over at the dog, and he peered up at me, as if asking for approval. I gave in, allowing him some praise, "Good boy. Now, let's get up there and help that nice man." I almost thought I saw him nod, as he ran forward and up the stairs. I almost instantly heard shots being fired and the dog's growl, prompting me to get after him before he dismembered them completely. As I climbed the rickety stairs, I heard many expletives being spewed from right above me. I remembered to crank the rifle again and held it up as I paced the flight.

"Mother fucker!" I heard screamed as I saw my dog shoved through a door back into where I was, chunks of wood splintering off in every direction. I could see the light from outside searing in, as a man with a machete and a bizarre gas mask rumbled through the door after him. I squeeze the trigger the moment my awkward sights lined up with his stomach.

Last shot.

I cranked it again, staring down the doorway, daring anyone else to come through. I waited a good few seconds before shifting my focus to the dog, who was lying on his side with a few welts. Not down yet, though. He picked himself back up and shot me a determined stare. I knew what he meant. I took aim at the doorway once more and waited.

"Come on out," I called, "I'll let you walk away from this if you drop your weapon and come nice and slowly."

I could almost feel the pause in the survivor's thought process. I saw another pipe creation tossed through the doorway before someone shouted their affirmation and the last raider slowly crept through the door.

"Get out of here, man," I advised him, maintaining my precise aim. He barely had anything on, although none of them really had. Some very torn pants, no top, except for a loose, wooden chest piece. He, like many of the others, also had what was essentially a sack over his head with eyeholes cut out and a tube going around it. Some weird gasmask of sorts, I supposed. This one had some nice boots on, though. He quickly hopped down the stairs behind me, the dog keeping an eye on him as he went.

It seemed I'd get to hold onto this rifle for a while longer as I still kept another blast. I whistled, and the dog and I proceeded out onto the third floor of the atrium and glanced right. The door was still closed.

"Hey, it's all clear out here. I took care of those raiders for you," I alerted. The door peeked open and the same man from before peered out it to confirm my words. He was a chiseled black man of average build, with his outlandish Colonial attire. Maybe this was one of those Minutemen Codsworth had mentioned.

"Alright, come on through," he whispered, stepping back as he let the door fling open all the way. I walked inside and took it in as the dog ran past me to an elderly woman sat on a couch.

"Oh, Dogmeat!" she affectionately purred, "I haven't seen you in ages!" She ruffled his fur and he sat against her.

"This your dog?" I asked.

"Who, Dogmeat?" the old woman replied, "No, no. Dogmeat is his own man. He doesn't like a whole lot of people, though he seems to have taken a liking to you."

The man cleared his throat and caught my attention again. "Right," he spoke, "I don't know who you are, man, but your timing's impeccable."

He held his hand out, "Preston Garvey, Commonwealth Minutemen." I took his hand and shook it. He had a very firm, masculine grip.

"Thomas Thompson," I introduced myself, "US Army Reserves. Just call me Tom."

Preston laughed, "Army Reserves? Time travelling, are we?"

I shrugged my shoulders, "And you aren't, Mister Minuteman?"

He chuckled a little, then sighed, a weary sigh, like he'd lost a lot. "Well… we could really use your help."

"Oh," I whispered, "Alright, well… sure. What do you need?"

He nodded and gestured to a man behind him who was bent over at a computer terminal, "This is Sturges, he's our expert engineer." He went around the room and introduced the three others, "You seem to have already briefly acquainted yourself with Mama Murphy, and over there is Jun and Marcy Long." He let out another defeated sigh, "We're all that's left. A month ago, there were twenty. Yesterday, there were nine. We've been struggling to survive out here. It's been hard."

"Sorry," I apologized, "Sounds rough."

"Thanks," he replied, allowing a kind smile to cross his lips, "Anyways, we've got a plan. Mama Murphy knows of a place, Sanctuary, and we're going to try to get there. Sturges, tell him."

Sturges stepped away from the terminal and met my eyes before speaking, "Right. Did you see that Vertibird crashed on the roof?" His voice spoke of a Southern accent, similar to my own twang that I took on from time to time.

"I did," I affirmed.

"Well, there's more than just a Vertibird and some skeletons up there. There's a genuine set of T-45b power armor up there, all we need is a fusion core to power it up, and we know just where to find one. In the basement of the museum, there's a fusion generator, but the door's locked. If you can break in there and grab the core, you can put it in the suit and rip the minigun right off the Vertibird. You'll be unstoppable!"

My eyes widened. This was an interesting development. I'd never been certified for power armor usage, as T-51 was just coming into service when my contract expired and T-45 was only really used in Alaska initially, but it couldn't be too difficult.

"Power armor _and_ a minigun? Sounds fun," I replied. I thought it over for a minute, figured I didn't have much to lose, and agreed. "Here," I offered, "Take my vest and my service rifle until I get back. I won't be needing them in a suit of power armor."

"Wow," Preston marveled, "This is genuine military hardware. How'd you get your hands on this?"

"I told you. Army Reserves."

I prepared my descent, but I stepped over to Mama Murphy and Dogmeat before leaving and knelt down next to him, scratching his neck. They seemed to know each other quite well. She was old, though. Her hair, barely visible under the odd hat she wore, was a bright white, and the bags under her eyes were sunken like craters.

"So, his name is Dogmeat?" I asked her.

"Well," she laughed, "He's gone by some different names over the years, but yes, most people call him Dogmeat."

She looked at me with a similarly weary stare before she spoke again, "You aren't from here, are you? You're a man out of time."

I nodded my head solemnly, "Yeah, you could say that."

She chuckled, "Concord must look pretty different to how you remember it."

"It does," I agreed, "There weren't quite as many potholes 210 years ago. Roads used to be painted regularly, too." I was a little taken aback by her knowledge, but I continued, nonetheless.

She smiled like a knowing mother, "We'll talk more later. I have a feeling you won't be leaving us anytime soon."

I returned her hopeful smile and stood, beckoning Dogmeat. I now felt a small semblance of purpose in this war-torn world. Maybe I'd join up with Preston and his friends. They mentioned Sanctuary earlier, although I don't know if they meant _my_ Sanctuary or not.

"Well, come on, Dogmeat," I spoke aloud, "We've got some work to do."

"Hey, Tom," Preston called out as I exited the room of refugees.

"Yeah?" I answered as I glanced behind me.

"Good luck out there," he told me, tipping his hat. I had a good feeling about him. Sturges and Mama Murphy, too. I couldn't quite get a read on the Longs yet, though. Only time would tell.

* * *

 **Hey all, hope everyone enjoys this new beginning of a story. I waited until the second chapter was done to post it to make it a more fair visualization of the project.**

 **More is coming, don't fret. Please give me feedback. I've had a couple of failed projects over the past couple of years, and I want to get this one right. Hope everyone's had a happy new year, and I hope to see many of you stick around for this story of mine.**


	3. III: Resistance

_Act I: The Minutemen_

 _Chapter III: Resistance_

 _28 October, 2287_

* * *

"You ready?" I called out. Everything was, from my understanding, prepared. Sturges, Preston and I had devised a plan to rid Concord of this menace, at least long enough for us to get back to Sanctuary, as I definitely planned to come back here and go looting. Eggheads would've had a field day out here...

I'd donned the massive suit of power armor which was, incidentally, incredibly hot, and had ripped the XM214 microgun, essentially a door-gun with a small-ish caliber, right off of its hinges aboard the Vertibird with ease, although this very well could have been related to the rust and decay of its platform. So, shockingly, I figured 5.56 wouldn't be that hard to find out here, given the XM214's chambering in it along with two extra drums lying on a seat in the rear, although I couldn't carry either of them, as I had nowhere to put them. I had just hoped that the drum that was loaded had enough rounds.

Interestingly enough, the T-45's internal sensors actually had the capacity to detect how much ammunition was loaded upon inspection, although not in real time. It was some kind of x-ray tech that wasn't advanced enough to be instantaneous. If humanity hadn't bombed itself to oblivion two hundred years ago, it might be by now. At maximum capacity, the standard mounted drum of an XM could hold up to four hundred rounds of 5.56x45mm, although loaded were only two hundred and fourteen rounds. Sadly, the other drums were, as it turned out, both empty, so this would be all I got.

"Yeah!" Preston called back from up top as I stood at the door waiting for his signal, now snapping back to reality. "On three!"

"One..." I began, bringing the behemoth to bear, which wasn't too bad with the strength provided by the power armor.

"Two..." Preston continued. I could feel his tension from two floors down.

"Three," we both clamored in unison as I slung open the door, surveying every direction. Surprisingly, there was nothing. I wasn't buying it. There was no way they were going to give up this soon. They'd been desperately trying to get to the Minutemen holed up in there with absolutely abysmal chances, so it was unlikely they'd give up now. And, if anything, my letting one get away _should_ have given them an early warning.

I shuffled forward slightly, getting out into the open. I figured I'd give them some bait to go for if I was to draw them out, but still nothing. I cocked my head slightly, deciding we'd need to go with Plan B.

"Dogmeat," I whispered. We'd had him sit right inside the museum in wait, since we weren't sure if he was going to be necessary. Sturges, too, was in on the action. The oily fellow sat alongside Dogmeat with an absolute relic, a Marlin 1895G lever-action rifle chambered in .45-70, in case things went south. Said he'd found it up in Far Harbor, which I would much later learn to be in Maine when I came across it myself.

Dogmeat crept up below me and glanced at me.

"Hunt 'em," I whispered.

Dogmeat immediately began wandering down the street, sniffing about and checking all around for any signs of the raiders, but he seemed to find nothing. _Seemed_.

"Contact!" Preston alerted me, as he began taking shots at one of the rooftops, right above me. It was the same clothing store I'd first crept through Concord by. Not seeing any other immediate threat, I barreled into the shop and up the stairs, hoping to catch anyone still alive. Preston was still firing, so that was a decent sign. As I crept up the stairs, I caught a glimpse of a hooded figure sniping back at Preston. I didn't even bother wasting ammo. I walked up to the man, who hadn't been expecting a walking suit of power armor to be suddenly staring down at him, smacking his fists together.

"Fuck," he whispered under his breath when I shoved him off the rooftop, watching him plummet to the ground as I brought my microgun back to bear. His last moments were not pleasant.

"Tom, there's more down there. They're pouring into the streets!" Preston shouted from the balcony. Just as he called it out, I heard Dogmeat whine from out in the street.

"Dogmeat!" Sturges shouted, leaning out of cover to take a couple of potshots around Dogmeat.

I leapt off of the rooftop, taking the fall much better than that raider lookout, the hydraulics of the power armor almost completely absorbing the fall. I crept around the west side of town, listening to all of the exchange of gunfire. I may have been rusty, but I wasn't stupid. No matter how much or how little ordnance they had, stealth was my best option until I had a good position. Unfortunately, that was difficult to do when every minute noise I made was amplified tenfold by the chassis enveloping me. I conceded to come out between a couple of buildings ahead of where I'd wanted to be due to how long it would take me to quietly maneuver over there.

For a second, it almost felt like I was fighting the Chinese again. We'd been on a mission to one of their cities, once. It was brutal. The illusion was shattered though by the reminder of this desolate world, the raiders. Those sack-hood wearing freaks poured, as Preston put it, out into the streets. They must've been holed up like cockroaches.

Slowly, sunlight began to flood my view as I crept further through the alleyway and I stood up. Time began to slow down as I assessed my surroundings. At least ten contacts all around me, although none had quite noticed me yet. Which was perfect.

I squeezed the trigger down and just let loose on the town. Raiders dropped left and right, those surviving the first onslaught taking cover and pot shots at my armor, but doing little to nothing. Small arms like .32 and .380 ACP had no chance at chinking the thick as rock power armor, unless they had precise enough aim to hit the exposed, unprotected elbows, or the little slits on the knees, or the neck, or any of the other near impossible targets. But they didn't have precise aim, not even remotely.

They dropped like flies.

It only ended when my microgun clicked empty and everything came crashing down. My ears were ringing and throbbing, my heartbeat immense. The drum was empty. I unwrapped my hands around the microgun's grips and dropped it to the ground, and immediately tore off my helmet, feeling claustrophobic. I could barely breath, and the sweat was pouring down and off of my face.

The adrenaline, however, still flowed vigorously and generously, which was about to come in handy.

Around the bend to the north, another man stomped into view, flanked by a couple of average raiders, with sporty tops and small arms, one of which appeared to be the fellow I'd let go free, that bastard. But he was another story. He was taller, and it took me a moment to realize he was also in power armor, or at least the frame of one. Rather than true, military-grade T-45 or T-51, he had, like was seemingly very common, tons of metal strapped across the base chassis, although he was armed quite heavily. Rocket launcher in one hand, baseball bat in the other.

"So, I see you've met my crew," he spoke in a grizzly voice, reminding me of an actual bear.

"I have," I confirmed.

"Well," he scoffed, "You like what you see?"

"Not particularly," I replied, as I stepped closer to him, his two flunkies tensing up and bringing their firearms to bear.

"Nah, nah, gang, it's cool," he relaxed, "I'm sure he just wants to chat with us, don't he?"

One of his minions spoke up, "Right, boss!"

The boss laughed, and introduced himself, "Name's Gristle. You from around here?"

"No," I said, trying to keep it simple.

"Well, then," he retorted, "Where are you from?" I grew tired of this exchange, as my adrenaline high was starting to dwindle from this calm.

"Look," I stopped him, "This small-talk isn't going to get you anywhere. Why don't you and your pals just leave while you still can?"

He cackled maniacally before proceeding. "And in what way are you in a position to say that? Especially since it seems yours big, bad minigun is out of bullets," he said, making a little fake crying motion with his hands. "I'm in control in this situation," he growled.

I had to do something drastic.

"Ow!" he cried out as the metal fist of my power armor collided with the side of his head, "Fuck!" The adrenaline was still kicking. I shot my leg out, knocking him to the ground and his weapons into the air. Before the junkies could react, I swiped the baseball bat from the drift and swung it into the bastard's skull before spinning around and slamming it into the other's chest. I stepped over Gristle's body, as he contorted, clutching his nose, and smashed his rocket launcher to bits and, in the process, discovered that it wasn't even loaded. I kicked Gristle in what would've been his ribs under all the metal and spat, "Get up, , get out, and don't ever come back."

I figured that after roughing them up I would've ended the standoff, but rather, the same bastard from before stood and fired into my chest which, at first, led to my life flashing before my very eyes, before remembering that T-45 could stop anything under 5.56x45 with ease and settling down. I merely gave him a concerned stare. Like, what would possibly possess someone to fire a single bullet into pure metal? The answer, I'd later learn, would explain a lot about these 'raiders,' and their culture. Their identity. They were addicts. And many of them were desperate.

Something I later often took for granted, was the aid of Preston Garvey. Rather than let me deal with these scumbags alone, he took a potshot at the other junkie and his brains exploded over the pavement. Not a sight I hadn't seen before, but still an unpleasant one, nonetheless. Even Sturges crept out into the evening light with his rifle drawn.

"I'll say it again," I spoke, with a little bit more confidence given the assurance of two extra guns on my side, "Get out."

Gristle picked himself up off the ground and glared at me, to which I threw his bat down in front of him. I wouldn't need it anyways. "I'm gonna make sure Jared finds out about this," he retorted, "You Minutemen are gonna regret letting us walk away alive. Come on, Joey."

Sturges looked on in awe, only managing a faint curse under his breath as the two slinked off.

"Good job," he whispered, grasping the metal on my shoulder. After a long pause watching them fade into the distance, he continued, "We'd better get back to the museum, make sure everyone's okay now that we've finally got some respite."

I nodded in response, and we both shambled back. When I glanced up at the balcony, though, Preston was still there, watching. He hadn't retreated back inside yet, and wouldn't until he was sure the coast was clear and, even still, he kept wary. He was a man of many secrets, I would later learn, but he was a good man with a clear conscience.

I exited the frame the first chance I got as we stepped inside the great hall of Concord's brilliant Museum of Freedom. I'd never been here before the bombs fell, so it was somewhat interesting to see the sights, assuming I could truly detach myself from this bizarre reality I was enveloped in, and think back to hundreds of years ago when this information was relevant.

"Shut the door behind you," Preston called out from above as he crept down the stairs where everyone else was gathered, still holding my rifle close, only lowering it upon meeting his request. The man was, simply put, paranoid, although not without reason. If my suspicions were correct, then he'd lost everything over the last few months, and was too afraid of losing what little he had left.

"That was... a pretty amazing display," he spoke in awe as he quickly stepped down the stairs, "I'm just glad you're on our side."

I remained silent for but a moment, collecting my thoughts, before returning his kindness. I had a very good feeling about him and his group.

"So... maybe you'll come to Sanctuary with us? We could really use your help," he proposed.

First, I had to confirm my suspicions.

"Where is this 'Sanctuary?'"

Preston kind of gave a nod to Murphy, who sat wide-eyed at a bench. "If we follow the road out from here," she explained, "It'll be hard to miss." I figured she phrased it like this for she seemed to know of my predicament, somehow.

"Can you give me a cardinal direction?" I politely asked, hoping she'd stop screwing with me.

She laughed and sighed before relenting, stating it to be directly northwest.

"Right," I said, taking a step back, evaluating everything. At the time, I still wasn't sure if staying in Sanctuary Hills was a good idea, but, in the long run, I think it turned out to be the best choice.

"So... is that a yes?" Preston asked, mistaking my silence for refusal.

"Yes, yes, of course," I sighed, "It's just going to be strange being back there."

"You're going to explain whatever it is you're alluding to at some point, right?" he joked, although I felt he was genuinely concerned.

I confirmed, and we collectively decided to start moving out, as it'd be dark very soon. Except for Miss Marcy Long. She was a scrappy one, as she and her husband Jun had lost their child to this wasteland, and they'd both taken it differently. Jun was very passive and depressed, heartbroken even. Marcy, outwardly at least, to anyone besides Jun, was viscous and vile. It was understandable, as I too had experienced the loss of my child, although I still didn't know whether or not he was alive. They weren't as lucky, although the luckiness of that situation could be perceived differently. I took it as a good thing that there was a chance he was still out there, rather than as a terrifying unknown.

Regardless, Miss Long hadn't taken too keenly to the idea of the survivors moving to Sanctuary. When Preston referenced it as 'the place Mama Murphy knows about,' she snarled back, "You mean the place she saw when she was stoned out of her gourd." Stoned? I wondered.

As it began to get a little heated, Sturges took charge and quieted everyone down, supporting Mama Murphy by requesting a better idea, to which none was given.

It was decided.

* * *

As we patrolled through the waning evening, Mama Murphy walked next to me.

"Beautiful sunset, ain't it?" she asked.

"It might actually be better than it was before the war," I replied, "Given the lack of light pollution."

She chuckled a little before stopping me, "Right, right, kid. That isn't what you want to talk about, though, is it?"

"No, I guess it isn't."

"You wanna know what Marcy was talking about, don't you?"

"I would like to know, yes."

"Well," she began, "For starters, I can help you find your son."

If I'd had anything to drink, I'd have just spat it out.

"How did you-" I began to question, but she was already ahead of me.

"The Sight, kid. It's a brilliant thing. I've done a lot of chems over my life, Tom, and it's done quite a number on me, but it's not all bad. If I hadn't gone down that path, I never would've gotten the Sight."

"And what-"

"The Sight is... like a fortune teller. If I take even a measly hit of Jet, it... sets things on fire inside me, like I'm staring down a Deathclaw with a rocket launcher while floating through the air. It's magical. But it's also practical. To... be blunt, I can see the future."

I hadn't a clue what a Deathclaw was, nor did I want to find out, but this seemed too good to be true. This couldn't possibly be the work of drugs alone. The atomic fallout must have had something to do with this, although, then again, those raiders were hyped up on a _lot_ of drugs. At once. I supposed anything could be possible in this world, so I continued to listen.

"You're a man out of time, out of hope," she valiantly whispered, "But all's not lost. I can feel your destiny." And that's where she lost me.

"Destiny?" I baffled, "Really?"

Like an experienced caretaker, she laughed again, like she understood every concern and inquiry, "Yes, really. You're gonna do great things, kid."

A little confidence booster, but nothing more.

"So where can I find him, Mama Murphy?" I wondered.

She reluctantly shrugged and coughed, "Without the Sight, I can't give you a whole lot, but even I don't need to tell you where to start looking. The Great Green Jewel of the Commonwealth. Diamond City."

I blanked.

"Where the hell is that?"

"Hmm," she gave yet another warm smile, "Back in your time, I think it was a _baseball field_."

 _Fenway Park_! I sat astonished. People had built a _city_ there? At least I knew how to get there, I figured. It would probably be a while before I could, though, seeing how much work there would be to do at Sanctuary Hills.

We all eventually settled in for the night, I myself maintaining the previously stained mattress I'd had while the others scrounged for whatever they could find. In the coming weeks, we would transform Sanctuary Hills into something worth fighting for.

But, for now, it remained a mere shadow of what it once was.

* * *

 **Another chapter down! It's a shame it isn't as long as the last one, but it fulfilled it's purpose, and that's all I could ask for.**

 **Funnily enough, I was originally going to include the Deathclaw encounter that exists in the vanilla game, but opted for the beefed up Gristle encounter for storytelling purposes. Don't worry, fans of Deathclaw-killing, it shall still be killed, just at a later date.**

 **I hope nobody is upset about any of the little bits of lore tweaks here and there, small things like more surviving pre-war firearms, Vertibirds having XM214s, Sturges having been to Far Harbor, etc. I wanted to create something that would be familiar to everyone who's played Fallout 4, but is distinctly different in it's own right, which I believe I am doing mostly correctly.**

 **Next chapter will most likely be up by mid-February at the latest, although I can't promise that.**


	4. IV: Fortress

_Act I: The Minutemen_

 _Chapter IV: Fortress_

 _19 November, 2287_

It had taken a lot of work, but Sanctuary was finally turning around. It was now late November, and the cold weather was picking up, It was about this time I finally got around to sharing my story. I'd let the gang get comfortable around me before I felt like divulging what was, to me, painful to discuss. But I explained everything. We were all sat around a campfire near the entrance to Sanctuary Hills. Everyone was quiet, until Preston spoke up.

"So, you ever gonna tell us about you? About who you were?"

"I suppose I could," I answered. My monologue ensued.

"Well, uh, to start off with, the first thing I need to say is that I'm not from around here. Obviously. I'm sure you can tell. But I don't mean as in location. In fact, that house, over there," I pointed, "Right across from the workshop is where I used to live some 210 years ago." Jaws dropped. Mama Murphy's didn't, though, for she already knew much.

"Yes, that's right, I was alive before the war. For a while, actually. I'm only 35, although, I guess, depending on how you look at it, I'm 245. Anyways, I lived there with my wife and son after I got back from deployment. I was in the US Army, and I was quite good at what I did. I reached the rank of Sergeant before my contract was up and I was sent home. I worked a couple of jobs off and on, but nothing ever really went anywhere after the Army. On one fateful day, my family and I were invited to Vault 111, and, perfect timing, too. We barely made it inside before the blast from the nuke that went off down south would have obliterated us.

"Now, you're probably wondering, how I survived something like that, among other things. Vault 111 was a weird place. They boxed us up in a freezer, and they told us they'd explain more at orientation, but... there never was one. We were frozen in cryogenic stasis for over 200 years."

"We?" Preston asked.

"Yes, we. Myself, my wife, my son, and about 7 other people from Sanctuary Hills. When I woke up, though, I was the only one left. All of my neighbors had died of cryogenic failure and... my wife... she had a bullet hole in her head. And Shaun, our son, was gone. He'd been in the pod with her when I went into cryo, but he just wasn't there when I got out. I don't know where he is or how to find him, but I've just been... blocking it out."

Everyone sat quiet for a while until Sturges got up, put his hand on my shoulder. "You've been through a lot, but you helped us out. You didn't have to. You could've walked away and left us for dead. But you didn't. That makes you good in my book. We'll do anything we can to help you out. Just ask."

* * *

We'd had to scavenge far and wide to get enough beds for everybody, and Sturges, Preston and I had even fashioned a couple ourselves from the wood of the massive Gildergreen tree in the center of the cul-de-sac. We'd ended up completely cutting down the tree and using its wood to patch holes and create a somewhat fortified perimeter around both my and Ms. Rosa's houses. Makeshift walls surrounded our little complex, which we planned to expand once we could get consistent supplies.

Favoring my initial plan, before I'd even met the Minutemen survivors, we holed up primarily in Ms. Rosa's house, now dubbed "FOB Alpha," per Preston's request. He was really taking this Minutemen thing seriously, despite the lack of enthusiasm everyone else showed. I wanted to help him, I really did, but I didn't know what else to do. There wasn't exactly an easy way to offer our support to those in need without proper communications equipment.

As it turned out however, word still got around from the passing traders that aimlessly roamed the Commonwealth. Most of them focused their efforts around the greater Boston area, but some of them were bold enough to poke around Lexington and Concord, others even further braved down south in the industrial district.

Anyways, Preston encountered one of these traders, finally, on one of his many supply runs, as we'd all had to do, namely one Trashcan Carla. According to her, folks up at a settlement known as Tenpines Bluff had been hit hard by the November weather and a raider attack from Lexington which was, in truth, a dangerous place. Despite the supposed squabbling of the Minutemen hierarchy and collapse only months prior, many people had counted on them and continued to send for help long after their demise in hopes that _someone_ was listening.

Preston went the extra mile and actually went to Tenpines Bluff and spoke to the settlers there, who he said were very kind and honest. They said they knew where the raiders were coming from, Corvega Assembly Plant on the south side of Lexington, but they just couldn't stand up to something like that. So, when Preston arrived back home, he was very excited to share the news with me that we were going on a mission.

At first, I was incredibly apprehensive. Corvega was a massive foundry, and if anyone was holed up there, they must have been fortified, at least to some degree. We didn't have a whole lot of munitions, largely having to resort to the previously mentioned pipe amalgamations, which, I learned, were typically 'chambered' in .380 or .45. Preston assured me, however, that he'd be alongside me the whole way.

And so, we went off, Preston still donning his colonial garb while I'd reluctantly retrieved the vault suit from Vault 111 due to its materials and durability, while my military uniform was being kindly cleaned by Mama Murphy. The vest had also, unfortunately, become useless, due to multiple bullet holes, so Preston and I would both be without armor until we could find something worthwhile. Preston still had numerous reserve fusion cells for his musket, while I would largely be forced to rely on my sidearm, which had seen very little use since I'd exited the Vault, allowing me to have a hearty amount of munitions to take with me. On my belt rested a combat knife, four pouches around with .45 magazines tucked inside, a single fragmentation grenade, and a couple of Stimpaks. If only I'd had space for more.

* * *

It was morning when we'd left, and mid-afternoon by the time we reached the ruins of Lexington. We'd both been through here before, so we knew the drill, but we figured it wouldn't hurt to go looking for supplies before we tackled Corvega, maybe even finding a backpack or some armor.

Right on the edge of Lexington resided an old Super Duper Mart, whose roof was partially caved in. We figured it had already been looted immensely, but Preston insisted we investigate, so I followed. He took point.

It was dark and mostly quiet inside, although, periodically, wet shuffling sounds could be heard. It was times like these that I longed for a flashlight. There were shopping carts everywhere, and the little bit of light came from the roof cave-in, where it pierced the darkness like lightning.

Preston and I had procedurally cleared the racks of empty cans and worthless junk at the front of the store when we came around the store's kitchen counter and saw a body on a table, with a military uniform and a solid metal, pre-war combat armor chest piece. Preston looked on in shock as I heard the wetness intensifying as I first saw an incredibly diseased or possibly malnourished body fall in through a window that had been in the room. It rose to its feet and growled like a rabid dog before it leapt at me, screaming at the top of its lungs. It tackled me to the ground, writhing on top of me and yelping, clawing, until a laser bolt cracked through its skull and it ceased to move. Preston stood over me with his weapon drawn, cranking the lever on his musket again before pulling me up.

"What the hell was that thing?" I whispered, fearing the presence of more of them.

It was on this occasion that I had my first encounter with what would become somewhat common place in the new world - ghouls. Ghouls, according to what many have said, were once human, and were largely the inhabitants of the old world who'd been less than fortunate, receiving eternal suffering and degradation of their minds and bodies rather than gratifying release like the other skeletons that littered Boston. Some ghouls maintained a large amount of their mental capacities, and were still around, trading, hunting, fighting, etc. Other ghouls had gone feral and would seek violence at any opportunity. They were like zombies, and that had been my first reaction upon seeing them.

That wet, squishy sound? That had been their decrepit bodies shuffling about the store, but their screams were all the more disturbing. Simple headshots were usually sufficing to bring them down, further reinforcing their similarities to the undead, but on my first encounter, I hadn't the focus to land those kinds of shots.

Preston reserved his explanation, hence my not learning more until later, replying with a simple, "Aim for the head," as he raised his rifle and fired off another shot in another direction. We procedurally cleared the rest of the market and made a couple of discoveries. It seemed that the ghouls here had largely kept away massive scavenging towards the back of the store, although, unfortunately, the Minutemen had once tried. Three of their bodies were found inside the shop, one of which being the man resting on the table. It seemed not all the Minutemen had been able to keep up the colonial look. Preston was disgusted, and it took a little coercing to get him to scavenge. I understood it, definitely. I'd had troops of my own back in the service, and this kind of thing had happened then, too.

As gruesome as it was, we took what we could from their bodies, on the premise that they wouldn't need it anymore. I assured him we weren't doing them any disrespect or anything. Both of us now had combat armor chest pieces, although Preston's was a little harder to handle given the bulk of his clothing. They'd also had a decent bit of munitions, but without any way to carry it we had little choice but to leave it behind for later. An M1 Thompson on one, an M700 hunting rifle on another. Despite the radiation and rust, many in the wasteland still carried classic arms and armor as opposed to makeshift weapons.

Even more, there was a fusion core generator still running after all these years, and Preston stowed the core in his small but useful rucksack, hoping for us to be able to eventually make more use of the damaged T-45 power armor back at home. There was also a decent bit of reserve food in the back of the shop, and Preston grabbed as much as he could, but we were forced to leave the rest, resolving to grab it on the way back.

We eventually exited the Mart into the now early-evening dwindling sunlight, akin to the evening we met back in Concord. If we'd had some expensive, fancy military equipment like helmet-lights or night-vision I'd have suggested we waited until nightfall, but, as we weren't exactly the richest in the world, we had to move fast.

The commons of Lexington were unnaturally quiet, usually bustling with caravans or raiders, but tonight, nothing. We weren't complaining.

Corvega wasn't as quiet. Men and women were bustling about, and mounted turrets and spotlights littered the perimeter. Going in the front would have been suicide. In our reconnaissance, however, we spotted numerous pipes to the east side of the structure, which would end up being our ticket in.

It wasn't pleasant in the slightest, and I was convinced we might have acquired radiation contamination. This way proved the safest, though, with only a single man guarding the pipe, who was ultimately killed by a couple of ferals who'd gotten in before us and been lurking, which we stealthily took down afterwards to prevent detection. Still as disgusting as the first time I'd seen them only an hour or so prior.

"So," I whispered, as we had a brief respite, "What's the plan?"

He looked on thoughtfully, and then proceeded as if some magical and foolproof plan had just been conceived, "We don't really need to do anything about most of them. If we can take out their boss, their gang _should_ fall apart."

"Great," I replied, "So, where is he?"

"That's the hard part," he mumbled, grimacing, "I have no idea. If I had to guess, probably up top, surrounded by guards. And turrets." All we had, collectively, was a pistol, a laser rifle, and a frag grenade. This would be tough.

Then it struck me.

"What if we interrogate someone?" I proposed, "Find it out where he is, then make our way there, kill him, and get out?" We snooped around. Eventually, we made it upstairs a little into a junction with an elevator and an increase in stairs. Two raiders stood chatting outside the elevator, presenting an obvious target. The only issue was that there were two of them, and one of them was facing our general direction. Too obvious.

Instead, we let them slip upstairs while we crept past into the large room ahead, filled with conveyor belts and bustling bodies. Hanging to the shadows, we spotted three men and a turret all in the room. If we could get one of them alone, maybe this could work. We stuck to the wall and slowly crawled into the little bunker in which the turret resided, along with one member hunched over a terminal, likely manning the turret, which presented a tantalizing opportunity. Take out the operator, and we take out the turret.

One hand found its way around his mouth, the other around his throat, as we pulled him from the monitor and out of sight, the operator kicking and screaming all the while.

"Who's in charge here?" I threatened, straight out of some old alien novella, to which he pointed straight upward, a single word muttered through his muffled maw.

 _Jared_.

The name sent shivers down my spine and I, almost instinctively, swung my knife from its perch and plunged it into the man's back in a single motion. Gristle, the leader of the merry band of men assaulting Concord, had been, of course, under Jared's command, and he'd seemed pretty sure he'd get us back, with an even larger force.

The operator slumped down, the pool of blood at his feet rapidly expanding, forcing us to quietly evacuate the area.

If Gristle wanted a rematch... we were going to give him one.

* * *

Perseverance. Without it, there's no way we could've stood up to the power armored Gristle and his boss, Jared, with what little we had. It started quietly, as we proceeded flights of stairs that opened into a massive car assembly lot. Lots of rope, metal, lines, etc. Even the hollowed out remains of a few vehicles which must have been in production right when the bombs fell.

We kept to the shadows like before, to some success. Jared and Gristle were up even higher, in a little bunker, presumably for higher-ups to observe their employees, and there was only one way to get to them – a little bridge that had to be extended on the opposite end of the chamber, with spotlights and turrets vigilantly guarding over it.

There were raiders patrolling the whole area, almost making it seem like they knew we were about. We had to maintain stealth for as long as possible, however, because we just couldn't amount to their firepower. Break one's back with a pipe wrench while suppressing a scream, slit a throat, smash another's jaw open. Eventually, the guise wore. Caught in the act of plunging a knife into a raider's stomach by a spotlight, everything changed in an instant. No longer were we embodiment of the shadows, now victims of the light.

To cover I fled, as both auto turrets on top of the bunker began lighting up my position. Luckily, all was not lost, as Preston wasn't with me, still weaving around the darkness while all eyes were on me. I squeezed off multiple potshots around corners at the turrets and survivors. The issue, now, was that they knew we were here. Bodies climbed the flights of stairs with extreme prejudice and tenacity, despite their largely drug-induced states.

But victory came. I had two frag grenades, and tossed one at the oncoming crowd and another up into the bunker. Even Gristle's busted Power Armor couldn't withstand it's magnitude, and his body soared out of the bunker. Jared, though, survived. Preston fired on the turrets that remained up as I climbed the bunker's steps and crossed its bridge. Jared wasn't uninjured, though. His leg had been blown clean off, and there was blood everywhere. He looked like he was going to protest but, in the adrenaline-fueled intensity, I fired off a round between his eyes before he could even speak. It was almost anticlimactic. Preston shot me a look of disgust as I hopped off the bunker.

"That was... brutal," he whispered.

Nonchalantly, I replied, "I did what I had to," with a shrug.

"Did you really?" he shot back, "They might've been fucked up junkies, but they were still people. You just cleared the entire room in under a minute and murdered a man in cold blood."

"Cold blood?" I answered, shocked, "He sent his gang to kill your friends, to kill _you_! If I hadn't killed him, they would've come back. Would you really have been able to hold him off without my support?"

Preston didn't agree with my methods and never would. I'd try to explain that it was just how I was trained. Having served in the United States Army for the better part of a decade, it was just how I functioned. Despite our mutual goals, we would inevitably butt heads on issues like these.

But that's just how it went.

* * *

 **Honestly, I'm surprised I got this out this early, although I guess its length justifies that. ETA on next one... honestly I don't know. Hopefully by March, but I'm going to be really busy, just in general, until June, so, we'll see. Thanks for sticking around this far, though, I really appreciate it!**


End file.
